It's in His Kiss Contemporary Romance Box Set

by Rosalind James

  I have to keep my hopes down. I’m probably making an ass out of myself. She probably just doesn’t want to be alone today, so she’s hanging out with me.

  I’m definitely in over my head.

  I need liquid courage. “You want to grab a drink in here?”

  She looks up to the antique sign: Mendocino Hotel. The building is yellow and saloon-style, like any minute Billy The Kid will explode out the door blasting his pistol past a bearded centenarian whittling a wood figurine on the porch.

  She sends up a shy smile and a nod. “Sounds good.”

  “After you, gorgeous.” She passes me and looks up so that, for a second, I think I might receive another kiss. I’m not that lucky.

  The bar inside is dark, which I like immediately. The fifty-plus year old bartender is caught up in conversation with a couple of people who appear to have been born on those barstools. As the light pours in with our entrance, he turns and jerks a chin to us, letting us know we’ve been seen and he’ll be right with us.

  Rebecca glides onto an empty stool, comfortable in her own skin. She eyes the waiting bottles on the back wall. Her hair falls over her shoulder as she looks back to me and smiles. “What are you having?”

  The bartender walks up, asking pleasantly, “Hi there folks. What can I getcha?”

  What I really want is a beer – a Budweiser. But I know that’s because I don’t know anything about liquor. I look at the bottles, too, but have no idea what I’m looking at. We all drank beer in college – just beer. All except the twat Melvin who thought he was better than the rest of us. Melvin’s parents were loaded. He’d been places. But he made the mistake of telling us that in such a way that we disliked him for it.

  I turn to her and smile. “Ladies first.”

  “I like scotch.”

  She likes scotch? Wow. That’s simultaneously exciting and sweat-inducing. A woman who likes scotch is not to be toyed with. And man do I want to toy with her.

  “Woman after my own heart. I know what I like… but I’ll defer to you, so you choose.” Defer – good word. I pulled that one out of Melvin’s ass.

  Her hair whips around gently as she faces the bartender. “Oban please. Two cubes of ice.”

  He nods and looks to me. What the hell is Oban? “The lady has good taste. I’ll have the same.” He turns and goes. Can I drink this stuff without blanching like a child?

  Rebecca shifts in her chair and looks at me from behind a raised bare shoulder. The depth of her eyes is amazing. My elbow supports me as I lean a little closer to her, like we’re about to share a secret. But neither of us talks. To look at someone without speaking, the room fades away. Her lips are slightly open, the bottom lip fuller than the top. I feel desire build as I look at it, scanning the pillow-crevices that are free of any added color. If I leaned in six inches, I’d be tasting that lip. Sucking on it. Taking her mouth in mine and touching my tongue to hers…

  “Here you go.” The glasses hit the wood with a thunk that sends Rebecca and I leaning back fast. We collect ourselves and smile. It takes a second for us to thank Bartender-Interuptus-Shithead. But we do.

  As soon as he leaves, I raise my glass to the beauty beside me. “To meeting you.”

  12

  Rebecca

  Panties: fried. Heart: exploded. Shrapnel: flying

  ______________________

  I haven’t blushed since age fourteen. Freshman year. I hit puberty, got my boobs, and gave it up to Trathen Martin – a Senior who took the gold of about fifteen other gullible girls around the same time. I stopped blushing after I found out I wasn’t as special as he said I was. My ability to blush was lost – or so I had thought.

  I was wrong. I’m red as the barstool I’m sitting on.

  “Thank you.” My eyes fall to the counter, the heat in my face intense.

  “Are you blushing?” He’s not teasing. He’s actually surprised.

  There is something about Brendan that has me forgetting who I am and what I know. It feels like I’ve got a clean slate. He doesn’t know how breathtakingly handsome he is. We walked here from the bookstore and he didn’t notice when five different women turned their heads to look at him… and then at me, with eyebrows raised way too high. No one is as puzzled as I am, but I wanted to flip them off anyway. In a way, that’s what I’m doing.

  I meet his baby blues again. “Am I?”

  He laughs. There’s something about a man with good teeth; it’s just sexy.

  “You are. You definitely are.” His smile fades and he leans closer. “And here I thought you couldn’t be any more beautiful.”

  I raise the still-full glass and cover my face with it, grinning like a child behind it. “Oh my God. You are killing me.”

  He’s proud of himself. I can tell. And he should be. He’s made me feel better than I have in years. If men only knew that a well-said compliment gets us wet and tearing off our clothes, husbands everywhere would get a lot more action.

  “To blushing.” My young companion touches his glass to mine, the one hiding my embarrassment. I venture out to take a sip, watching him as he joins me.

  “You like it?” I ask.

  With casual, sexy confidence he nods. “Oban is my favorite scotch.”

  “Oh good. I hoped I made the right choice.”

  “You sure did.”

  I pick up the menu left for us – a large, leather-bound list of comfort foods that makes my mouth water immediately. “This looks incredible. Are you hungry?”

  I meet a smoldering blue stare as a dark lock of hair falls onto his forehead. “I’m starving.”

  Nobody pinch me.

  13

  Brendan

  Meatloaf: ridiculously delicious. Plate: licked clean. She has two sisters, both older. She moans when she eats potatoes. Her smile: Sara who?

  ______________________

  With all the shops explored, we’re walking back to the Sea Rock Inn. We’re alone – just the way I want it. I feel like I should take her hand. I’m walking with my hand swinging by hers, so close and yet so far away. Every so often they touch and I wish she’d just grab mine and let me off the hook. It was so easy to sit and talk to her in the restaurant – c’mon Bren. Get some balls.

  We’re walking on the right hand shoulder of the two-lane road that leads out of the small town. Waves crash below the cliffs to our left, rhythmically soothing as the water methodically cuts boulders into sand. I tell her about how it does that, and the other things I learned in Geology – although I act like I just know about this stuff. Which I guess, now I do. That’s what school’s for, isn’t it? But still, I don’t want to remind her in any way that I just finished college, so my speech is careful.

  Rebecca listens, nodding and asking a good question now and then. After a bit of silence, she says simply, “It’s beautiful up here.”

  “It is. And to think I almost didn’t come.” I look down at her swinging hand. Here I am, easily a foot taller and I’m scared of her. What a pussy.

  Her chin raises and her eyes glide over my face, making my blood pump harder. “Really? I almost didn’t, either.”

  “I’ll tell you why I didn’t, if you tell me.”

  Her smile fades. “That’s okay.” She looks away, subject closed.

  I replay my words and can’t find a reason for the look on her face. “Okay.”

  We walk in silence. Once again our fingers brush by accident. I can’t wait anymore. I take the leap and touch her on purpose, weave mine into hers, watching her face for reaction. Her breasts rise with surprise. She looks at our hands. With breath held, and heart hammering in my chest, I wait for her to pull away.

  We stop walking. A truck honks as it passes, but we don’t look at it. Her lashes rise to mine and for the first time I see it - she is as nervous as I am. Adrenaline roars into my veins with the speed of a launched missile as I realize she wants me, too.

  “Come on.” I lead her across the road to a large cluster of trees grown perilousl
y cliff-side. The sound of the waves gets louder, calling to us. We’re walking fast. She jogs to keep up and her freshly blushing cheeks say everything.

  I pull her to me in the secret privacy of the trees. Hooded and sexy, her smoky brown eyes close as I stare at her lips. She whispers, “Oh my God.”

  That kiss in the bookstore only gave me a taste of what I need. I want more. I slip my hands around her back, pulling up, lifting her onto her toes. Our lips tentatively touch. My eyes close as my need for her pulls at my jeans. I touch my tongue to hers and taste its sweetness. I love the smell of her breath, natural and unfettered. Her arms slide around my neck and her fingers weave into my hair as our tongues slowly explore. She moans into me as I push my hips on hers, feel her leg opening to wrap around my thigh. We grind a little – just a little – and the heat on our skin builds. Her fingers travel down my shoulders, my arms – resting there like she’s enjoying touching my muscles.

  “Stop,” she breathes. She pulls back enough for me to see her face. “Brendan, stop… I can’t. I’m sorry. I can’t.”

  I release her waist and step back. With the newfound space to move, she breaks free and quickly walks away in the direction we came.

  What did I do wrong?

  “Rebecca!”

  14

  Rebecca

  This shoulder of road has never been so guiltily trudged up.

  ______________________

  We’re walking in silence with me a couple safe paces ahead. Even with the distance, I can feel him. I can still feel his hands on my thighs, on my lower back, pressing into my skin. His breath on my lips. His heat enflaming my everything. I can’t handle this.

  I haven’t kissed anyone besides Jack in over twelve years. Marriage plus courtship. And it never – and I mean never – felt like this. My heart is pounding. My starved-for-attention body is dripping with desire. I’ve never cheated on Jack. Until I make it really clear that we are over, this is cheating. I can’t cheat – I’m not a cheater. My best friend Noelle’s husband cheated on her and she nearly ate all of Arizona while simultaneously hanging herself with a metaphoric rope of cork from all the wine bottles she’d sucked dry.

  I am not a cheater. I’m just not. I can’t be. Shit shit shit shit shit shit SHIT.

  Wrapping my arms tightly around me, I stumble on a chunk of rock I didn’t see. “Ooh.”

  “You okay?” he asks.

  I sneak a peek at him. “I’m fine.”

  “You don’t seem fine.” His beautiful eyebrows are knit together…and I want to kiss the temporary little lines.

  A sharp angle to the right and I’m almost to my cottage. “I’m fine. Really.”

  “Rebecca…” His voice pulls at me with sweet longing.

  He’s so young; so new, fresh and un-jaded. He embodies all of what I want for myself. I want to feel hopeful about life again. Young in mind if I can’t be younger in body. I head toward middle age with unacceptable speed. I don’t want to feel like it’s over!

  I spin around. “I’m not fine.”

  “How can I help?”

  A huff of air escapes my lungs and I look everywhere around me. “I want you to help me. I want you…”

  “I want you, too. Is there any reason we can’t?”

  My mind races. I want to say that I’m newly separated… as in yesterday! I want to tell him that he scares me! I want to confess that I haven’t kissed anyone besides my husband since Brendan was probably in grade school! But instead I whisper a lie. “No. There’s no reason.”

  He smiles and my heart fills with steam, looking at it. “You probably just want someplace more private than a tree?”

  I laugh. I loved the tree! The tree wasn’t the problem. Biting my lip, I shake my head and grin at him. “Would you like to see my cottage?”

  “I’d like to see more than just your cottage.” He flashes a sexy grin.

  Nervously, I turn. “Follow me.”

  He walks a few steps behind me and I can feel my ass heating up under his appreciative stare. I walk up the porch, sliding the key out of my bag, but I never get the chance to use it. Because the door opens, and there, looking at me with red, tired eyes and crumpled airplane/rental car clothing, is my husband.

  An emotional storm waves through me, rendering me able to utter only one terrified word. “Jack!”

  “Surprised?” he asks, smiling weakly. Brendan keeps walking as though we don’t know each other. Behind me I hear his footsteps continuing on to his own cottage.

  My heart goes with him, as I stare at my husband. “Very! What are you doing here?”

  “I made the reservation for this place. It’s our anniversary, remember?” His forced smile hurts me. Did Brendan hear him say anniversary? I look right and see Brendan pause before he disappears into his cottage. He heard.

  I walk past my husband and close the door. We don’t hug. Men are like dogs – he’d smell young man meat lingering on my mouth and would know what I’ve been doing.

  “When you didn’t answer your phone and I couldn’t find you, even called Noelle, I figured you had to have come here.”

  My mind is spinning so badly. I’m only half listening. I’m only capable of making two sounds. “Uh-huh.” Brendan’s arms. The smell of his shampoo…I walk into the tiny cottage kitchen. Stand with my back to the counter, my hands gripping onto it as I face out so I can stare at my husband and try to focus.

  “I can’t believe you flew out here on your own.” He laughs like he didn’t think I had it in me. This breaks through. Familiar. Angry. Done.

  “You act as though I can’t do anything on my own, Jack.”

  He blinks. His eyes flash annoyance. It’s back on. “I never said that. It’s just you don’t really do anything without me and I…”

  “That’s just it! I don’t. I’ve let you dictate my whole life for the last ten years!” My hands are tightly gripped on the counter for support.

  He holds his hand to his forehead like it hurts. “What? What are you talking about? We’ve had a great marriage, Bec.”

  “It’s been great for you. It hasn’t been great for me.”

  “Wait wait wait now. You just said it yourself. You let me dictate your life – you let me. I didn’t ask you to stop working. I didn’t ask you to follow me around like a puppy dog without any opinions of your own!”

  That hits way too close to home for me not to blow my top. “A PUPPY DOG!!! I would have had opinions – JACK – if you wouldn’t have been so damned domineering.” My feet carry me quickly into the little bedroom where the romantically lit, fire-burning stove mocks me. “Oh shut up!” I yell at it.

  “Hey! We don’t say shut up – remember?”

  I sink onto the bed. “I’m sorry.” That was my rule: never swear at each other, tell each other to shut up, or go to bed angry. Slippery slopes to a nasty marriage. I don’t tell him that I was talking to the stove. He wouldn’t get it and then I’d feel like an idiot for explaining. And explaining. And explaining.

  I don’t want to explain anymore.

  “What’s going on, Bec?” He’s staring at me.

  The answer is very simple and very sad. “It’s over, Jack. It’s just over.”

  He shakes his head. “I don’t know what to say.” He stares off into an uncertain future, resting on the doorframe. All I can see are his white sneakers and the ring on his finger. I asked for stable. I asked for what I got, but I was wrong. It’s not enough and I am going to die someday. I want to live. I want to be on my own and travel the world. I want to know what it feels like to go to another country and not know where my hotel is, and find my own way there. I want to be independent (and have lovers on the side).

  “I need to find out who I am without being defined by my husband and what he wants,” I say, quietly.

  His eyes, so familiar to me, lock on mine and tear up. “I don’t know why you can’t do that with me.”

  “History has shown I can’t, hasn’t it?”

  He nods
and pushes off to walk into the living room. I sit and listen to him make his way to the door. Jumping up, I run after him. “Are you leaving?”

  With his hand on the doorknob, his body facing away, he mumbles, “Yeah.” He looks over his shoulder and I see tears on his cheeks. “I’ll drive up the coast and find somewhere else to stay. I need some time to think.”

  “Okay.”

  A deep crease of pain clouds his brow. “I’ll see you back home.”

  “No. You won’t. Goodbye, Jack.” I turn and disappear into the bedroom, resting my head against the cool, wood wall as I listen to the door close on a chapter of my life. My heart pounds like a ticking clock as I listen to him leave.

  He’s gone. It’s over. I’m free.

  I breathe. Out cobwebs, in fresh air. Out confinement, in liberty. Out security, in adventure. But then the door opens again and frustration pours cold water over my heart. I don’t want to explain anymore – just go already! I whip out of the bedroom, ready to fight for a life I know I need.

  “Brendan!” Brendan closes the door, the door latching with a slow thunk.

  “You’re married?” His jaw is tight. Eyes firm. “Was that your husband?” He pushes his hands into his jeans, biceps tensing. “I watched him drive away.”

  I can’t speak when he looks at me like this. I walk to him and silently nod.

  “He drives a Prius.”

  My eyebrows fly up and before I realize I’m even talking, my thoughts are voiced. “He even rented one of those things?”

  Brendan’s lips twist into a sexy smirk, and for the first time the sardonic thing he’s been trying at, becomes real. Him seeing my husband, knowing I hadn’t told him I was married, that shifted something inside of him. Looking back at me are no longer the eyes of a boy. His innocence that had hung by a heartstring has broken away and vanished, but I don’t know that. I just see pain.

  He opens the door and walks out.

  15

  Brendan

  Pacing in Cottage 2. Pacing and pacing and pacing.